


All Things Are Destined to Be Yours

by Apsacta



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: M/M, rated T for thirst apparently, vaguely inspired by greek mythology, weird stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apsacta/pseuds/Apsacta
Summary: All things are destined to be yours, and though we delay a while, sooner or later, we hasten home- Ovid, Metamorphoses, book XHe is thirteen when he finds his soulmate, though he doesn’t know it yet. He doesn’t understand the significance of their meeting until much, much later anyway.He is twenty-seven when he loses his soulmate, and he’s determined to get him back, no matter the cost. He’ll walk through Hell and back, if he has to.(A variation on various greek myths, loosely modified, vaguely recognisable.)
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 54
Kudos: 86





	1. Summer

Eddy’s adoration blinds him like the sun.

It’s all things bright and beautiful, memories made and to be made, so much hope, so much comfort, so much meaning, burned behind his eyelids. It’s his vision filled with red and yellows until it’s all he can see, all he can think about. It’s a friendship so precious that he’d die for it, would give everything he has and everything he is without even blinking.

It’s sparkly eyes behind wiry glasses, it’s a crooked, knowing smile, it’s chuckles in the back of orchestra and confidences torn from his lips. It’s resolve and determination and courage, so much courage. It’s everything he wants to be and more. 

Like the sun, it’s soft and warm and beautiful, and brightens everything it touches, so much life, so much happiness, so much heat. But it’s also scalding hot, sometimes, burning like wildfires in his brain, too much, possessive, jealous, _hold me, keep me, love me, no one else, please, no one else._

His adoration blinds him like the sun, always on the edge, teetering between too little and too much, between life and death.

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

Perhaps it’s fate that brings them together.

It doesn’t feel like it at the time, but with hindsight, what else could it have been but the bony hands of a white-robed woman, threading their lives together from the start.

When Eddy’s thirteen – short for his age still, shy and anxious and a little insecure – his parents decide to send him to math tutoring, on a Friday evening in Brisbane. It’s a torture of a whole new genre, that’s for sure, one more brick in a wall of parental expectations, when it’s not enough to be good and he needs to be even better.

He hates it with a passion before it has even begun, wants to leave but would never dare, ever the good kid, enduring and obedient above all else. So he’ll suffer in silence.

He’s there early and the other kid gets in late, a second before the start of the lesson, breathless, and sits down next to Eddy. He’s not much to look at, braces and glasses and a dead-pan look, but when Eddy turns his head to the right, it still feels like an epiphany. There’s confidence in those brown eyes, a devil-may-care attitude in the crook of that smile, a general demeanour that exudes assurance and audacity, and Eddy wants, _he wants_ to be like that, cool and fearless. It’s everything he ever hopes to be. 

“I’m Brett, hey,” he says when the teacher turns away from them, and Eddy wants to be his friend so, so bad.

They both play the violin at the same level, and they both hate maths tutoring, and it’s enough for Eddy that when they part, he already thinks about the next Friday.

They meet again the very next day, at nine in the morning, at the Old Museum building in Brisbane, for their first rehearsal with the Queensland Youth Symphony. As far as coincidences go, this one’s pretty on the nose.

They’re the youngest members by several years and it’s one more thing that brings them together (one more, because the more they get to know each other, the more the list inches towards infinity).

Of this day, Eddy mostly remembers the growing anxiety he felt during the car journey there, the urge to hide behind his mother. He remembers thinking something along the lines of ‘ _fuck, I don’t know any of these old people_ ’, and wanting to run away so badly. He remembers the relief, washing over him like a huge wave when he turned around the corner and heard ‘ _You’re that guy from math tutoring’_ , shouted loud and clear by a boy who already didn’t give a damn about what others thought.

He doesn’t remember how the rest of the rehearsal went, can’t recall what his mum and Brett’s dad talked about when they greeted each other, has no idea how he even got home after that. He does remember Brett’s laugh, the ease with which he won people over, how everyone just seemed to like him. He remembers being dazzled by Brett’s playing, by his ease and grace, from that day onwards, forever.

Later, much later, when they’ve heard the question twenty thousand times and they’re almost sick of answering it – ‘ _we met at math tutoring, on a Friday evening, in Brisbane – I was thirteen, he was fourteen – and then we saw each other the very next day…’_ – there’s still the ghost of a smile on his lips when he recalls it. Deep inside his heart, he thinks ‘it couldn’t have gone any other way, right?’

They grow up together, make it through awkward phases and questionable looks, and they come out of it stronger in the end. The reservoir of cringe-worthy moments they have to tease each other with is infinite, but so is the amount of good memories. They play together in any configuration possible, in orchestra and duets and trios and quartets, they busk on the street and they play in concert halls, and Eddy suffers through playing the viola but it’s worth it in the end because Brett’s there too.

They grow up and evolve and change, but all through the years their friendship remains a constant, and it has to account for something, right?

It’s Brett who’s there when Eddy gets anxious before a concert or a competition, Brett who’s there when Eddy has his first real break-up, Brett who’s there when Eddy has to fight tooth and nail to go to the conservatory instead of med school. It's Brett who's there, as always, all jokes momentarily cast aside, solid and dependable and always, always there, ready to be set as an example to clear all doubts that Eddy’s mum could have. He knows, deep down, that she only wants the best for him, that her insistence comes from a place of genuine worry about his future. He might have given in, if he’d been a tiny bit weaker, but he’s build himself looking up at a model that’s so strong and resolute that he stands his ground and wins the battle.

It’s always like that. Brett leads the way, and Eddy follows, star struck, blinded by his light, ready to go with him to the ends of the earth.

In university, they start Twosetviolin, and Eddy’s never been more excited and scared at the same time. It’s bittersweet like the days at the end of the summer. Their channel grows, people follow them on social media and people talk about them. Their channel grows, people think that it won’t work and people talk down on them. Brett doesn’t care. So Eddy follows.

Fate briefly tries to pull them apart, after university, when Brett leaves for Sydney and Eddy stays. He’s the first one to admit that it’s uncomfortable, this absence. He misses the warmth and the light, and the phone calls and trips back and forth don’t really cut it. It’s not easy, when your best friend is miles away and you can no longer see him every day.

Brett’s absence feels like dark clouds on a rainy day, like getting shaky bow in the final of a competition, like losing yourself in the maze of your own thoughts. Eddy powers through but it feels like something is missing all the same, like being submerged in the routine of a conventional life, like he’s walking through the dark without enough light. He’s jealous of Brett’s new friends, and it’s not nice. He wants to be happy for him and nothing else, but he doesn’t want to be replaced.

Fate pulls them back together in the same way it pulled them apart, through music, as usual. Twoset keeps growing, and when they have to choose, they choose each other.

They play in the Sydney Opera House and Eddy only remembers the warmth and the light. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

It’s a crazy idea, to fund a classical world tour with a kickstarter. It’s even crazier, then, to publicize it by busking on the streets, night and day, until they reach their goal. After the first night outside, Eddy wonders if they haven’t both completely lost it. It’s the worst thing and he hurts all over. People come to join them and it’s the best thing ever. He takes comfort in the fact that he isn’t doing this alone, when he watches Brett fall asleep on a bench. Exhaustion makes him say the craziest things. His possessiveness comes out in the open, and he’s not even playing it up for the camera. He’s just too tired to care.

They reach their goal in just five days.

They say ‘I love you’, that night, and for the first time it feels different.

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

Eddy is thirteen when he finds his soulmate, though he doesn’t know it yet. The word is overused and he doesn’t understand the significance of their meeting until much, much later anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Have a nice day :)


	2. Fall

Eddy’s love has the taste of sour apples.

It’s sweet enough to make him want more, but a little acidic in the back of his mouth sometimes, forbidden fruit that he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be allowed to bite into, heady with an aftertaste of cider that leaves him pleasantly buzzed.

It’s in the way he watches, dainty hands dancing across the fingerboard, pretty fingers, shiny nails, it’s the shape of his eyes, his nose and his eyebrows, the line of his neck, adam’s apple showing when he speaks, when he laughs, it’s his bony shoulders, his legs, his knees, that look in his eyes, the way he giggles high-pitched sometimes.

There’s a bitter sweetness to the way Eddy loves, like the first rays of sunshine on a crisp and cold autumn day, like the mist rising from the forest and the leaves decaying on the ground, like knowing that everything is fleeting, passing, knowing that this is something to be admired but never to be touched.

His love is either burning hot or stinging cold, no middle ground, it’s a hidden thing that swirls in mist in his chest, unspoken, neither dead nor alive.

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

So, somewhere along the way, the Fates decided to toy with Eddy a bit, for their own enjoyment, perhaps. 

So, maybe they enlisted the help of Eros, and they all probably had a good laugh for a while.

So, Eddy wants his best friend in a way that he knows he shouldn’t.

He’s loved him forever, since he was thirteen, since that first day in maths tutoring, when he was blinded by his admiration for him, but at some point something changed. He doesn’t remember many details of the kickstarter days, it’s all a blurry haze of red and purples, tired and excited and anxious and relieved, but somewhere between the pain in his neck and shoulders and the tears of elation, there was something, one thought, intrusive, persistent. _Brett’s mine. And I’m jealous._

Brett loves him too, of course, but not like that. Brett’s love is shiny, it’s hard work and shared dreams and infectious laughter, when Eddy’s love is blunt fingernails scratching at skin, breathless whimpers stolen from shaky lips, wet mouth pressed open to the palm of his hands. It’s simply not the same.

Eddy wants Brett in a way that he knows he shouldn’t, not like that, not his best friend.

He isn’t very subtle about it either, not according to the comments under their videos, to the tweets and the Instagram posts. He’s not going to deny anything, the heart-eyes and the unswerving attention, the way he just can’t look away from Brett, the way he laughs way too loud at his jokes, ugly snorting that turns soundless when he’s really into it. He’s pretty sure the entire world knows about it, by now.

The entire world, except one person. Either Brett is blind, or he’s the most oblivious being on the planet, but whatever it is, Eddy’s thankful for it.

He’s not about to lose his best friend over thirst, no matter how justified.

He won’t act upon any of it.

Maybe he’s a coward for it, but he’d rather pretend that nothing’s going on, that he isn’t feeling this intense longing whenever he looks to his right. He’d rather act as if he’s absolutely fine, because he can live with this half-eaten desire lodged in his stomach, but he can’t live without Brett. He can’t live without TwoSet, can’t live without this life that they’ve painstakingly built together, forging a new path for themselves through music.

Out of everything in his life, being half the brain behind TwoSet is probably the thing that Eddy’s the most proud of. Sure, he can play the violin, is kind of decent on the piano if you don’t look too closely, had the grades to get into med school. But TwoSet is something else.

This is theirs entirely, a product of their brains and their souls combined, and god, but Eddy could never have dreamt up a more perfect baby.

Like any proud parent, he feels like he shouldn’t pick favourites, but of course he does. Any video where they’re laughing their heads off like madmen immediately shoots up to his top five. He'll never admit to it, at least not to his face, but he’s got a thing for Brett’s laugh. The one that goes high-pitched when he can’t hold himself back, when his voice breaks on the words and there are tears at the corners of his eyes.

Then there are the days when they have to play seriously for a video. It’s kind of nerve-wracking sometimes, and part of Eddy just can’t believe that he still get nervous just playing in front of a camera. There’s a prize, though, a reward to the stress he puts himself through, makes it all worth it ten thousand times over, and it’s that he gets to listen to Brett play. It’s something that dates back to way before youtube, dates back to their days in youth orchestra. He’s always been in awe of Brett’s playing.

He’s still trying to come up with a video idea that would involve Brett playing him different Debussy pieces. A little self-indulgent, sure, but a guy can dream...

That’s why he’s got such a soft spot for the Tchaikovsky livestream they played when they reached two million subscribers as well. He won’t ever admit it to Brett, but sometimes he plays the video in the background when he’s alone, getting some work done. Eddy’s so proud of it that he doesn’t even have the words to tell how impressed he was. He doesn’t think Brett would take him seriously anyway. Eddy’s doing too good a job at acting normal around him. But this is Brett’s dream piece, played as a soloist, in front of forty _fucking_ thousand people, and Eddy will be damned, but it does make his heart flutter _every time_. 

The Tchaikovsky drop, though, is also the moment Brett starts getting _weird_. Well... maybe weird isn’t the right word for it. But Brett gets more secretive. He’s unreachable for long periods of time, is late when they’re supposed to film together (as in, later than his usual late), and even when he’s there, he’s kind of distracted.

And Eddy worries. He thinks ‘ _fuck. Brett’s met someone.’_

It’s not that he doesn’t want his best friend to have a fulfilling love life. It’s not that he hasn’t been expecting that it would happen sooner than later. He can’t have been the only one to notice how fucking perfect Brett Yang is. But, okay, he still hasn’t completely shaken the thought that was born on their kickstarter campaign. Brett’s his, and he’s jealous.

And maybe there’s something to the fact that Brett – who tends to be on the ‘kiss and tell’ side of things, at least with Eddy – is hiding whatever this is from him. He doesn’t like the feeling. Doesn’t like the fact that Brett seems to have the life and soul sucked out of him a little more with each passing day.

If Eddy wasn’t so afraid to reveal the true nature of his feelings, he’d shake the truth out of his friend.

Then comes the day when Brett doesn’t show up at all for filming, and is nowhere to be found.

It feels like hell. Eddy has no other words. 

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

(So, as it so happens, the underworld’s got a pretty decent WIFI connection. Would you believe?)

So, one day, maybe Hades is bored. Ruling over the huge plains filled with dead souls isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.

So, one day, maybe his wife is not yet back from spending time _up there_ , with her mother, like she does _every goddamn year._

So, one day, maybe he’s on YouTube (because why not) and the name Tchaikovsky pops up. He recognises it because the old composer’s over there, somewhere, brooding over some poisoned water.

So, one day, maybe Hades clicks on the video.

So, one day, maybe Hades takes a fancy to a certain dark-haired violinist, because he’s bored (ruling over huge plains filled with dead souls isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be), because he’s lonely (his wife’s still up there with her mother, like every goddamn year).

So, maybe Hades devises a plan to abduct the new object of his fancy, because he’s bored, and because he’s lonely.

(Oh yes, and kidnapping people _is_ kind of his thing, after all).

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

Eddy is twenty-seven when he loses his soulmate, and he’s determined to get him back, no matter the cost. He’ll walk through Hell and back, if he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, pacing’s a little off but whatever. I hope you enjoyed this nonetheless.   
> Thank you for keeping up with this <3   
> Next part out in august :)
> 
> ** all credit for the sour apples goes to Google. Thank you Google.


	3. Winter

Brett’s absence feels like icy fingers slowly closing around Eddy’s heart.

It feels like empty spaces and silent places, too cold, like the bite of the wind on a chilly morning, like fingers paralyzed by frost. It’s Sibelius’ violin concerto but a semitone off and Tchaikovsky’s Winter Dreams turned nightmare.

There’s a hollow in his heart, a void to his side. He feels like his hands are missing something, wants to grasp at invisible arms but ends up with a closed fist. There’s a ringing in his ear, like tinnitus sounds replacing laughter.

The phantom pain of his severed half keeps him awake at night and there’s no meaning to any of it anymore.

Life without Brett is empty and cold, like a hopeless night in the dead of winter. Life without Brett is no life at all.

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

The day Brett disappears is a day like any other. There is nothing particular about it, nothing extraordinary. It starts with Eddy failing to set his alarm and waking up way too late – as is customary for him – and goes on with Eddy waiting for Brett – as had also become customary, since Brett became so unreliable. But then Brett never shows up.

The day has nothing particular about it, and yet it will stay in Eddy’s memory for months to come.

The worst thing is the absence. How do you go on with your life when it’s been built entirely around someone else? How do you get up in the morning when the reason you did so is gone? Without Brett, there is no Brett-and-Eddy, without Brett there is no TwoSet. Eddy hasn’t just lost his best friend, the other half of his soul. He’s lost his job and his business along with it.

The worst thing is the absence, but guilt comes a close second. Eddy should have seen it coming, he thinks. He should have done something. He should have known, really, that something wasn’t right. How could he not? If he’d only done something, instead of moping around, waiting for Brett like a love-sick puppy. Maybe, then, none of this would’ve ever happened.

The worst thing is the absence, but he hates the pity just as much. People think he doesn’t notice, but he can see the sorry glances and hear the whispered words. _There goes Eddy, poor soul. Poor, poor soul,_ they all say behind his back, _he was in love with his best friend but never told him, and now he’s alone. He’ll be alone forever._

This only fuels his anger. But anger is good, he likes anger. It brings along rage and determination, and Eddy wakes up one day knowing one thing. He will not let anyone take Brett away from him. Not now. Not ever.

His search is relentless, and pity soon turns into worry. _There goes Eddy_ , they all say behind his back, _and he’s lost it. He won’t stop searching for his best friend, even though he’s been gone for two months. Three months. Six months._

Eddy doesn’t care. Brett is out there, somewhere.

Eddy knows it. He dreams about him sometimes, playing violin in the darkness. In Eddy’s dreams, Brett never sees him, but somehow Eddy knows that he’s waiting for him. All Eddy needs to know is where.

The lady comes to him in a coffee shop in Tokyo, one day. Or is it night? Eddy can’t tell. It’s one of these moments where everything around him seems grey and everyone seems asleep. He’s been living off caffeine alone for days, and couldn’t tell the day or month anyway.

She’s dressed in a weird dated fashion and no one really seems to see her. Eddy doesn’t notices. He rarely ever notices things anymore.

“You’re a hard man to catch up with, Eddy Chen,” she tells him when she sits down across from him. “I’ve travelled half the world just to find you.”

Eddy looks up and takes one glance at her appearance – slightly too tall, slightly too pale, a little too shiny. _Oh fuck_ , he thinks, _another one of these psychics._

It was inevitable, really, that they’d start flocking to him after some time, attracted perhaps by whatever little fame TwoSet had garnered. It makes him uncomfortable. He never knows how to deal with them.

“Listen, ma’am,” he begins, but she quickly catches his wrist. Surprisingly strong.

“No, Eddy Chen,” she says, “you listen.” She speaks as if she doesn’t care whether or not the rest of the coffee shop – the three employees and two other customers – can hear her. “It’s bad enough that you made me come all this way. Do you think, perhaps, that I have nothing else to do? Do you think, perhaps, that the crops grow themselves?”

“Why did you come, then?”

“Because he did the same thing to me, a long time ago. He took my daughter like he took your lover, and it is high time that someone confronts him about it.”

Eddy doesn’t bother correcting her. What is even the point, anyway?

“Who did?”

She scoffs. “Hades, obviously. Who else? He keeps doing it because our brother is too much of a coward to tell him not to.”

Eddy doesn’t know whether to cry or to laugh. It’s ridiculous, honestly, but she silences him with one look. He finds that the words that he was going to speak are stuck in his throat. It hurts.

“You must have seen him by now,” she goes on, unbothered. “You must have seen him, at night, in the Mourning Fields, waiting for you.”

Eddy doesn’t want to believe her, but he’s past the point where he can’t be honest with himself. He’ll admit it – to this strange lady, to himself – he’s desperate. He’d do anything, at this point.

“Tell me,” he asks feverishly, “tell me how to get to him.”

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

She said ‘ _there’s a cave_ ’, but it’s more like a hole in the ground, and the fumes coming out of it make Eddy feel dizzy. There’s a part of his brain, the part that got straight A’s and did well in school, that thinks that this is probably going to kill him. The rest of him thinks ‘ _Brett’_ and there’s no place for any other thought.

He goes down with worried feet. It’s a rocky slope that’ll probably lead him to his death, but he’s come so far. He’s not about to give up now. He’s already half dead, anyway.

He’s been warned that they’d be there, that he wouldn’t be alone, but the voices still startle him. Their whispers feel like freezing water poured directly into his chest. He won’t stop, though. For Brett.

 _He’s lost forever now, you won’t get him back._ Grief spreads its tendrils in the dark, scratches at the skin of his neck.

 _You’ve not come here for him, you’ve come here to die, alone and helpless._ Anxiety touches his chest, squeezes his throat until he can’t breathe. The walls of the cave are coming closer, right?

 _Do you even know what awaits down there, in the darkness?_ Fear grabs at his wrists, won’t let go. It’s dark and uneven. He trips on moving things. What if he’s come here to die? Who will help Brett, then?

 _How long since you last saw him, how long since you were allowed to touch him without guilt._ Need, slithering down his spine, heavy on his steps.

 _He’s mine. If I touch him he’s mine for eternity._ Death brushes his forehead as it speaks. _Won’t you let me kiss you, Eddy Chen, let me keep you too_.

 _Why not just give up, since it’s impossible. Why not just lie down and rest._ Sleep scratches at his eyelids. _I’ll make you bleed, Eddy Chen, make you cry red tears of exhaustion._

 _You’ll fail_. Agony bites at his ankles, makes him fall face first. _I’ll break your nose, Eddy Chen, I’ll break every bone in your body, starting with your fingers._

He’ll crawl away from them on scraped knees and open palms if he has to, for Brett, hum Mozart and Tchaikovsky to drown out the thoughts, until he reaches the bottom of the slope.

They keep scratching and grasping at him, disease and old age and hunger and guilty joy, until the sound of water slowly drowns their whispers, and the black depths stop Eddy’s progression. He remembers the advice just in time. _Do not touch it, wait for Charon, he’ll get you to the other side_.

Charon, it appears, is not at all happy to help him through, and does so very reluctantly. He asks for payment, takes all of Eddy’s money, mumbling under his breath. _Every couple of century, not even dead, against the rules._

Eddy steps in a boat that feels like it’s going to break from the smallest wave, won’t get him through to the other side, no way. He can swim, he tells himself. Come what may, he’ll get to the other side. They’re halfway when he notices.

“There’s – there’s dead people in the water,” Eddy stutters.

“If you don’t shut your mouth, you’ll join them,” Charon grunts, a nasty look in his eye.

Eddy pipes down and tries to make himself as small as possible. He thinks he’s safe once the boat touches shore, but Charon’s eyes turn evil, his smirk all but gentle.

“If you want to get out of the boat, you need to pay.”

“You’ve got all my...,” Eddy begins, but then he has an idea. “How about a piece,” he offers. It’s his only hope. If this doesn’t work, he’s done for.

“What?”

“Music. How about I play for you?”

“Why not. If I don’t like it, I’ll toss you in the river.”

He gets his violin out, thanking every god – Greek or other – that he decided to take his violin with him. _Please no shaky bow, please no shaky bow._ He thinks about Brett, thinks about playing, thinks about playing with Brett. _Deep breath. Here we go._ It’s the most stressful performance of his life, and Eddy’s dealt with performance anxiety since he was a child. He knows what he’s talking about. He doesn’t do too bad, he thinks. Hopes it’s enough.

“Not bad,” Charon says, and then he turns his head to wipe away stray tears. “Go now.”

Finally, finally, he sets foot on solid ground. He hasn't even taken a few steps that there’s a voice, in the shadows, high and a little raspy, tone a little mocking.

“Those tenths were out of tune. I hope you know it. You’re lucky Charon’s half deaf anyway”

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

Eddy is twenty-eight when he enters the underworld, and he will not leave this place without Brett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there it is, thank you for reading.  
> The Mourning Fields are a real part of the greek underworld, it’s where the souls of those who wasted their lives on unrequited love go. 👀


	4. Spring

Eddy is twenty-eight, and he’s in over his head. He’s twenty-eight, and if this is the journey that makes or breaks his life, then he has to admit it, it’s not looking that good so far.

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

“Those tenths were out of tune. I hope you know it. You’re lucky Charon’s half deaf anyway,” comes the voice out of the darkness, and Eddy only owes it to the exhaustion that he’s already feeling that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the spot.

“Sorry?” he says, a little offended even though he knows it’s true. It’s the pressure.

“Out of tune. Questionable rhythm as well.”

Eddy looks around but can’t find where the voice comes from. If this is a new way of tormenting him, it’s weirdly ineffective. Especially after everything he’s already been through. This is no worse than what he’s heard from his music teachers.

If he ignores it, it’ll go away. Like all the other voices. Instead, he turns his attention to the path that he is on, that splits cleanly into two branches. One goes left, winding down along rocks and into the darkness, and the other goes right, straight up a steep hill, reddish light at the top. Left, he decides, seems to be the best option. But when Eddy makes to turn, the voice speaks again.

“Not that way, dimwit. This is for the dead to be judged. You’re not actually dead, are you? Go right.”

Eddy stops dead in his tracks. Suspicious. After the vices and illnesses biting and scratching him, the voices infiltrating his thoughts, the cold, the dark, the horrible old man in his boat and the dead in the river, he’s at least learned one thing. Whatever appears down here should not be trusted. If he wants to make progress, he needs to close his ears to the things around him. Trust only his eyes, maybe. Maybe not. He doesn’t know. Still, he has no idea where he’s going.

“It’s nice to see a new face.” From the voice, Eddy’s got the distinct impression that whatever new demon this is, it is mocking him. Clearly, this thing has no intention of helping him.

“Can I see yours, maybe?”

The thing laughs. “Later, if you’re good.”

“If I’m what?” Eddy chokes. This is not taking a turn that he likes.

“Oh please. Don’t be a child about this. Go right, up to the gate.”

Eddy hopes that, against all odds, this is not actually a trap. With a resigned sigh, he turns right.

He regrets it almost immediately. He’s not even halfway up and he’s already sweating. It’s a dumb promise, but he tells himself that if he ever gets out of here, he’ll go to the gym and drink less bubble tea.

It doesn’t help that there are light footsteps behind him. The creature, demon, whatever, hasn’t left him alone, it’s both comforting and worrying. Yet when he turns his head, there is nothing but darkness.

When Eddy finally reaches the top of the hill, exhausted already – and how, he wonders, how is he supposed to complete this journey if he feels like that, body ready to give up on him, to spontaneously combust, ready to drop there on the ground if it weren’t for that one thought that keeps him going – when he reaches the top of the hill, there is a gate.

And in front of that gate is the most monstrous dog that Eddy has ever seen, looking at him, mean, from a distance that Eddy doesn’t dare crossing. In normal circumstances, he’d say that he has a thing for ugly dogs. They always end up being the cutest ones, for some reason he can’t really figure out.

This dog, however... well, this dog has three heads. And none of these heads are cute. He couldn’t tell whether it’s the glowing eyes, the snarling snout or the glistening teeth, or a combination of everything, but this dog is not only ugly, it’s also terrifying. It’s also bigger than any dog that Eddy’s ever seen, and that doesn’t help either.

“Uh,” Eddy says. Every time he tries to take a step towards the gate, the dog snarls. Something vicious.

In the darkness somewhere to Eddy’s side, the demon chuckles. Happy and somewhat mocking.

If Eddy snaps, he’s going to regret it later, he’s sure of it, so he has to be more than careful. But with a river full of dead people behind him and an angry dog in front, he could really do without the hiccup-like chuckles.

“Demon?” he asks. “If I ask for help, what will you take in return?”

“Demon?” There’s mockery in that tone, but also something else, softer. “I’ve been called that, yes. I’ve been called many things. None of them true. But it’s a nice violin you’ve got there. If I help you, will you give it to me?”

It catches in Eddy’s chest, the indignation, the fear, the urge to say ‘no, what the fuck, no’, but then he thinks about Brett, and if Brett isn’t worth more than his violin, then Eddy has no right to call this love, no right to pretend to even the tiniest space in Brett’s heart.

“Alright, you can have it. But only after, when I’ve found Brett and we can get out of here.”

“It’s a deal. I help you find this Brett, you give me the violin. You’ve got to tame the dog.”

Eddy would choke, if he had any strength left for indignation, but his whole body seems to be operating half on autopilot. He makes to pet the dog, without thinking, when the demon stops him with cries of ‘ _with music, good gods, with music, how dumb are you actually, do not touch it_ ’, and sure, that makes more sense, of course. He thinks he’s doing a good job of it, too, once he gets the hang of it. The dog, at least, seems to appreciate it. He’s not snarling at Eddy anymore, and Eddy’s getting more confident, starting to think that this is working. _Brett,_ he finds himself thinking, _just hold on. I’m here._

One being that absolutely doesn’t like what Eddy is playing is the demon. Eddy hears him mutter under his breath, disrespectful comments about his playing, those annoying chuckles coming every so often, until Eddy’s left hand pizz makes him lose it. The muttering turns into wailing, and Eddy has to stop.

“What, like you can do any better?” Eddy protests, and immediately comes to regret it. There’s hands appearing out of nowhere, unceremoniously grabbing his violin and taking it from him.

He’d argue, forcefully, that this was not the deal. He has to find Brett before the demon gets the violin. He’d argue that this was not the deal, if all words were not stuck somewhere in his throat.

The demon, it appears, is no demon at all, and Eddy doesn’t know how to react. He can hear screaming, very loud and obnoxious, in the back of his mind, and feels his limbs slowly liquefying.

Paganini, for that’s him, doesn’t care in the slightest that Eddy is currently losing his mind. He turns to the dog brandishing Eddy’s violin, and literally knocks him out with his playing. Eddy would feel shame over his own poor performances if he wasn’t so awestruck that there’s really no place for anything else. _Wait till Brett hears this,_ he thinks. _He’ll love it._

“You – you’re Paganini,” Eddy says, “like, _the_ Paganini.”

Paganini looks at the violin he’s handing back with forlorn eyes and nods. “The one and only. But shouldn’t we be searching for your...”

 _Right._ Eddy’s brain freezes temporarily and he can’t find the words for a moment. “B-Brett,” he stutters.

“Your Brett?”

“My friend, Brett. He’s in here, somewhere. I’ve got to find him.”

Paganini chuckles quietly to himself. “Let’s go get your friend Brett, then.” He chuckles some more, shakes his head. “Friend,” he mutters under his breath, with more hiccup-like chuckles.

For all that he likes to make fun of Eddy, Paganini turns out to be rather useful. Sure, he spends the entire time criticizing his playing, and Eddy’s too preoccupied with finding Brett to file his remarks under useful advice, but at least he knows where he’s going. In between _‘that’s not how you do pizz’_ and _‘what do you mean octaves are hard? Look at my hands’_ he manages to navigate Eddy through the underworld. He’s not a talker, and safe for a few words of advice – _these are dead souls, no, do not try to touch them, yes they can see you, no, don’t interact, do not touch them what did I tell you –_ and questions about Brett – _how did he get here? When? How? Hades you say? –_ Paganini keeps his comments short, and mainly about violin playing.

It’s Paganini, as well, who helps Eddy find Brett, who figures that if they can’t find him anywhere, it’s because Hades must keep him close. It’s Paganini, again, who leads Eddy exactly to where Brett is.

Eddy recognises the playing before he even sees Brett, playing in the middle of a garden for a man who looks way too excited to be trusted, and a woman who looks too bored to be there from her own volition. Eddy can see her leaning towards her companion, and if he strains his ears, he can just make out what she’s telling him.

“Another one honey?” she saying, dark voice strangely complementing Brett’s playing. “I thought we had an agreement. Enough of this groupie thing you’ve got going on.”

“But look at him,” the man protests.

“Every time I’m away, Hades. Every time. You get another one.”

Eddy’s not sure how to approach him, but he doesn’t have the time to think about it. Paganini firmly pushes him in the back, and he stumbles in front of the couple.

“Eddy?”

Before anyone else has the time to react, Brett’s at his side, looking at him with wide eyes before convulsively grabbing at Eddy’s forearm.

“Liar,” he says, face paling as he turns towards Hades, “you promised. You promised to leave him alone. You swore you wouldn’t harm Eddy if I came willingly.”

The confusion that follows – Eddy trying desperately to drag Brett away, Hades arguing that he has nothing to do with Eddy’s presence there – is only stopped by Persephone’s voice coming over the noise, clear and peremptory.

“Dear, wait a minute, will you? And you, children, no one’s moving unless I say so. As for you, signor Paganini, why won’t you show your face. I can tell you’re here. Obviously you’re here.”

“You know me too well my lady,” Paganini says as he approaches, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She doesn’t answer, instead turning her attention towards Eddy, intimidating. “What do you want? How did you get here, and why?”

“Brett,” Eddy just says, jaw tight. “I’ve come to get him. We’re leaving,” he adds, encouraged by Paganini’s nod. His voice, however, is not as strong as he hoped.

“You can’t just walk in and out of Hell. What makes you think we’d let you go?” she says, matter-of-factly.

“He’s not leaving,” Hades interrupts, but Persephone stops him with a one finger.

“You’ve got to allow him one chance to convince us. That’s what we’ve always done.” She nods towards Eddy, who opens his mouth and can’t get a word out. “Your violin?” she adds.

Confused, Eddy turns towards Paganini, who just nods.

He doesn’t know, as he takes out his violin, what he’s going to play. Even as he’s tuning, he doesn’t have a clue. He’s thinking Sibelius or Mendelssohn, but can’t decide. Then he looks at Brett, and there’s only one choice, right?

He feels those forty minutes like they’re both the longest and the shortest of his life, and maybe they are. Maybe this is the most important piece he’ll ever play. He’s not playing for any of them, not Hades or Persephone, not even Paganini. This is for Brett. Eddy understands it the moment he starts the first movement, _allegro moderato,_ a confession of sorts. The second movement, _canzonetta_ , stretches from his fingers, all these things he’s never said out of dumb shyness, fear of upsetting this fragile equilibrium between them, but it’s too late for that now, he must go on, _andante._ Onto the _finale_ , then, and his chest feels like it’s crushing under the weight of the music, too fast, not enough time, _Allegro vivacissimo._

He ends breathless, everything out of focus. He’s vaguely aware of the expression on Paganini’s face, all the little remarks he wants to make but keeps quiet, for once. Persephone’s looking at him, gaze piercing, like there’s no hiding anything from her. Hades is looking too, vicious and angry, like he already knows what his wife has decided. Brett doesn’t, eyes fixated on the ground, and Eddy’s chest, still heaving from the effort, constricts painfully.

He looks up, eventually, after Eddy’s had the time to suffer a thousand deaths, and his eyes are shiny but Eddy won’t mention, _I won’t say you’re crying if you don’t say I am too._ Eddy doesn’t know what to say, feels like he’s said it all already, but maybe Brett doesn’t understand, maybe... But then Brett crosses the distance between them, hands on Eddy’s face, thumbs against his cheeks, and he kisses him, kisses Eddy in a way that makes even the gods look away.

“Children, a bit of decency, please,” Persephone says eventually, “save that for when you’re out of here.”

It takes a second before it registers, what she’s saying. Then Eddy loses himself in words of gratitude, holding onto Brett like he would disappear if Eddy let go.

“A minute,” Hades interrupts Eddy’s thanks with a sly smile. “You can leave all you want, but he,” – he points at Brett – “he is not.”

He motions towards the half-empty cup of bubble tea near Brett’s violin case, and both Persephone and Paganini’s faces fall.

“If you consume food in here, you cannot leave,” Hades explain to Eddy, a condescending smile on his face.

Eddy feels cold sweat down his back as Persephone says “that’s a dirty trick you’ve played there, honey,” and he understands that she’s no longer going to let Brett leave.

He feels Brett’s arms around him slowly let go, resigned already, and looks around for Paganini, almost desperate. But the musician seems to have lost all interest, instead opting to picking a pomegranate from a tree, and pealing it casually.

It takes a moment before Eddy understands why Paganini’s dropping the seeds in his hand once he’s done pealing the fruit, but when he does, he looks at Hades with a smile.

“Fine then,” he says, stubborn, before he swallows them. “If Brett’s not leaving then neither am I. You can’t make me.”

To his right, he hears the hiccup-like chuckles of Paganini, laughing in delight. Persephone’s shaking her head in annoyance, and Hades is looking at him in horror.

“No,” he shouts, “I grant you special permission. You can leave.”

“Well, now, honey, that’s not very consistent of you,” Persephone says quietly. “Either they both leave, or none of them do.”

“You played me,” Hades says angrily, but Eddy just shrugs.

It is Persephone, always more pragmatic than her husband, who manages to convince him in the end. They’re both hell-bound now, she tells them, and upon their death, they will have no other choice but to end back here, but Eddy barely listens. All that he hears is that this nightmare is finally, _finally_ , coming to an end.

He holds onto Brett’s hand tightly all the way back, afraid to lose him to the dead in the water and the whispers in the dark, but there is nothing to worry. They seem strangely distant now that the end of the tunnel is in sight. And anyway, there is a voice in the darkness that drowns all the others with disparaging comments about Eddy’s performance and crazy melodies played on Eddy’s violin.

The brightness outside blinds Eddy and he trips, falls face first in the grass, and lets go of Brett’s hand for a moment. There’s a brief panic in his throat at the loss of contact, vague memories of stories where a couple is separated just as they reach the surface, before he’s crushed by the full weight of Brett’s body, toppling over him.

It’s shock for a moment, then Eddy closes his arms around him, and it’s Brett, he’s there, and they’re out, at last.

They’re silent. For a long time. Just matching breathing and the wind in the trees, and if Eddy listens real close, the faint notes of _Nel cor più non mi sento_ somewhere under them. But maybe he’s just imagining that. He’s exhausted, after all.

Brett’s the first one to get on his feet. “Let’s go, hey,” he says, pulls Eddy up by the arm, and Eddy comes up mechanically.

He feels woozy after all of that. He lets Brett pull him along, one step, two, three, further away from the entrance to the underworld and the fumes and the ghostly violin playing.

“Paganini,” Brett says suddenly. “Fucking Paganini. Of course that would happen to you.”

Eddy nods and feels the corners of his lips going up. “It’s crazy,” he whispers, and then he chuckles. He can’t help it. “You should’ve heard him, man.” He pauses. “He made fun of my playing,” he says with a sigh.

“Very Paganini of him.”

“I know, right?” Another chuckle. “Dude, I wish you’d been there. Out of tune, questionable rhythm,” he’s full on laughing. “Basically, Paganini said I was shit.” More laughing, and Brett’s joining him now. “You should’ve heard his laughter. Fucking legend, man, fucking legend.”

Brett laughs, like they’re in their filming studio, like nothing happened, none of this nightmare that lasted forever, and Eddy’s last chuckle gets caught in his throat, somehow suddenly too tight, fights to escape and comes out as a sob.

“Eddy?”

He nods and swallows, he’s fine, he really is, they’re out, but the tightness doesn’t go away, painful.

“Hey?”

Brett’s hand at his jaw, thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth. He’s fine, they’re both fine. It’s alright. _Breathe in, breathe out. Tell him..._ More sobbing, almost foreign, painful in his chest as he tries to hold it in.

“Eddy?”

“I’m fine,” he says, can’t get to the end of the word, shaking, on his knees now somehow, wrapped around Brett, holding on. Probably too tight. Probably hurting him. He can’t let go, won’t let go, _why did you leave me, why did you leave me all alone?_

It feels like an eternity, soft petting at his hair, quiet voice. _It’s okay, Eddy, it’s okay._

 _Don’t leave,_ Eddy wants to say, won’t, too fragile still. He’s so tired, too tired, words don’t really make sense anymore, _I love you, please don’t leave me_.

“Let’s get home,” Brett says, brushing at the scrapes and scratches on Eddy’s skin, “let me clean those before they get infected.”

“Something bit me,” Eddy manages to say, child-like, pitiful, voice hurting with every word. He chuckles, wet, uncertain.

Brett’s humming quietly in his ear, rocking softly, and it takes Eddy forever to recognise Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto, and even longer to get over it. _You love me,_ he wants to say, somehow full of wonder, not even a question, but the words stay stuck in his throat. They’re there, though, the certainty slowly filling his chest as all his worries go out.

“Let’s go home, hey, Eddy,” Brett says softly, fingers clasping around Eddy’s. “Let’s go home now.”

⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷

Brett’s love feels like sunshine.

It looks like bright skies on a quiet morning, sounds like birds singing in the trees and smells like the first flowers of spring.

It’s coming home to someone, and falling asleep to gentle fingers petting his hair to keep the whispers at bay and waking up to soft kisses that erase the sensation of invisible teeth closing on his ankles. It’s honey and music and light, everything that Eddy has ever needed, everything that he will ever need.

He’s in love and he’s alive and everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Have a wonderful day, please take care of yourselves <3 
> 
> (Can you tell I started disliking this somewhere halfway through chapter 2 and finished out of pure stubbornness? )


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